wood smoke

Wood smoke that’s a nice smell isn’t it?

That's a nice smell isn't it?

I proffered as I approached the two old ladies

Seated close together
opposite the woodburner

behind the low table at the end of a cabin

The table where you pay for the books

I had four clutched to my breast

Taken from the giant book sale

in the potting shed across the garden path.

Where do you pay for the books?

A tall man had earlier asked me
Or at least he asked someone
as he stood there in his pastel coloured Sunday rambling attire
And I was there

In the other hut I assume
I shrugged

He followed me there

hesitating for a moment as the handle resisted my efforts.

A sharp tug and we were in.

Such an enchanting space.
A narrow wooden cabin lined with books.

Yes it is
One of the old ladies replied

A comforting sort of smell

Yes it is I said

I don’t know why?
I added exhilarated to meet someone else who found it so

That this was not necessary struck me in an instant 

And indeed wondering why the smell of wood smoke is comforting 

Is not a guaranteed source of comfort

Comforting smells are best left undecoded.

I myself associate it with my best friend’s lounge

A prosperous family who lived in the countryside

I found it comforting immediately

A totally new and alien smell
It was instantly familiar

And crept directly into my memory attic 
where it has remained ever since.

At our house we had a three bar heater

With fake projected flames

An American visitor in my teenage years

had looked at it like something from the x-files.

(Well she was glamorous like the lady detective)

Aw gee wow what is That?

This is now in family folk-lore

But still snags my shame at our lack of urbanity.

But wood smoke?

That’s not exactly ersatz.

It's older than time itself

So why must wood smoke must be smelt indoors to be this comforting?
Well it must - didn't I say?

Outdoor wood smoke is much more complicated.

At least for me it is.

Scout masters eliciting tears.
Sing songs drowned by jeers.

Damp nights under canvas (literally in those days)

Trying to explain why my camp bag had

Acdemics Kill written on it.

I had no idea but it made complete sense

I even tried to defend it.

My Skip said that he was an academic.

Why? he wanted to know.

And now I am an academic and I know.

Wood smoke that’s a comforting smell

I don’t know why? I half asked

And from the corner of my eye

I detected the micro-expression

of one of the old ladies turn to confusion.

Or rather rueful puzzlement.
But I didn't want to look.
Not really because I wanted her to forget I asked.

Wood smoke that's a comforting kind of smell.